Too Fine

Nearly seven and it is still dark; a heavy frost has settled upon Crooked Eddy. It is twenty-nine degrees, and I have half a dozen freshly tied Red Quill Emergers waiting for the fly box. Still October, and Red Quills? Indeed, I think of the task as building hope for a better spring…

Half a dozen more for the larger Hendricksons have joined them now: wood duck tailing, wrapped Pheasant tail fibers for the slim abdomen, a wisp of fox fur dubbing and a shortened CDC wing. The heavy wire hook lets them nestle in the film while the current brings life to the CDC fibers; the trout cannot resist!

The Leonard unfurls a perfect loop, and the somber hued offering is cast. I squint to follow the hint of dun color where the light catches the CDC feathers and then it is gone! The golden arch of cane throbs with his energy as he sprints away while the Hardy ratchets my favorite song, and all is right with the world.

I have months to dream of such moments. October wanes and November stands ready. Driving out to Roscoe yesterday I viewed miles of the higher slopes, already bare to herald the gray season. Where the lower ridges adjoined the Quickway there was still some color, tones of russet with a dwindling spark of yellow or orange.

My trip was to the Fly Fishing Center, answering the call to help with their first after school fly tying class. I was pleased at the turnout, some of the children were quite young, as it is good for local kids to learn of the wonders and history of the Catskill’s outdoors. Most of the local people do not cast a fly to these cherished bright waters, and it is good to see their youngsters enjoy a chance to sample all that Mother Nature has bestowed upon the region.

Sunshine is destined to melt the frost as the day proceeds, and light those ridgelines with lingering color. I have many little tasks to compete for my attention, tying more flies in hope for springtime not the least among them. Daydreams come easy at the vise.

Clear, sunlit days are too fine for my plans, for there is nothing I would rather do than steal another chance to become enthralled with the magic of the dry fly! Despite such brilliant sunshine, river temperatures continue their decline, staying somewhere in the forties these days. Chances for that flash of magic dwindle with each degree below fifty.

Perhaps I shall dream of spring once more…